


Rescue Me, Hold Me In Your Arms

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [29]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Bond is Broken and M Mends Him, Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eve is a BAMF, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M is More BAMF, Older Woman/Younger Man, Prompt Fic, Romantic Friendship, post-torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond's in trouble, but M is there to rescue and help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue Me, Hold Me In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Written for the bondkink comm on LJ, based on [this picture prompt](http://darklightsknights.tumblr.com/post/39840737041/the-words-dear-boy-do-come-to-mind-for). The prompt was _Craig!Bond/Dench!M, Rescue Me. [I] wish for a fic where M saves Bond for a change. I'm not picky. M can save Bond literally, emotionally or whatever way the author wants to go, though I confess that a fic where M kicks some ass while coming to the aid of her boy would make me squee :)_  
>  Spoilers: None (Set between QoS and Skyfall)  
> Disclaimer: Still don't own it, or profit!

Bond is lying on the sofa in his sitting room, his eyes closed and his breathing even, when M lets herself into his flat with the spare set of keys she's fairly sure he doesn't know she possesses. He looks a mess: his right arm's in a sling, his left eye is black and swollen, there's a sticking plaster on his brow above his eye, and a line of stitches across the cut on his cheek below. And those are just the easily visible signs of his injuries: there are lacerations and bruises on his chest, back and thighs, hidden from view by the loose shirt and trousers he wears. Then there are the invisible wounds, and often those are the worst kind, particularly for a man like James Bond, whose reticence on the subject of his mental health is very well-known to M.

She closes the door softly, then tiptoes across the room towards the sofa. Bond's eyes snap open before she's half way there and he gives her a bleary look, his head barely lifting from the cushion.

"What are you doing here?" he rasps, his tone surly, but his voice still hoarse from screaming.

"I wanted to see how you were," M says, ignoring the surliness as she reaches the sofa and looks down at him.

"I'll live," he says.

"Yes, you will." She sets her bag down, then crouches down, ignoring the creaking protests of her knees. She puts her left hand over his right as it rests on his chest, then puts the palm of her right hand on his brow, checking his temperature.

"M," he protests feebly. "You're not my mother."

"For which you really ought to be grateful," she tells him, smirking at the scowl he directs at her. "Have you eaten?"

"No. Not hungry."

As if to belie his statement, his stomach gurgles, and she grins when he shoots a glare at her.

"I've brought some food with me," she tells him. "You need to eat to keep up your strength, or it'll take you far longer to heal."

"Do as you please."

The surliness is back, but M doesn't miss the flare of gratitude in his blue eyes, so she pats his hand, then pushes herself up to her feet with a slight wince and a silent groan of protest.

She gathers up the bag and carries it through to the kitchen where she sets about heating up the beef soup she's brought. She puts the lion's share into a bowl for Bond, and the remainder into a second bowl for herself. She adds a plate full of thickly sliced bread to the tray, and pours him a half glass of wine: he's taking painkillers so too much alcohol would be a bad idea.

She carries the tray through to the sitting room, setting it on the coffee table, then she helps Bond to sit up so he can eat.

"Can you manage the soup left handed?" she asks, passing him the bowl, which he balances on a cushion on his lap.

"Yes." 

He looks down at the bowl, frowning, and she asks, "Not to your taste?"

"It's not that," he says. "Just thinking this'd be easier at the table. After all, I'm not a complete cripple." There's a note of bitterness in his voice which makes her wince, but she doesn't answer as she takes the bowl from him, sets it back on the tray and carries the whole lot across to the dining table in the corner. She doesn't offer to help him up from the sofa, nor does she watch as he limps over to his seat, although it requires a huge effort of will on her part. 

After dinner (she follows up the soup and bread with peach cobbler, which she knows is one of his favourite desserts, and which earns a mumbled 'Thank you' from him), she does the washing up, then brings him a mug of tea.

"Thanks," he says gruffly. "And for dinner. I'm sorry about my bad mood when you arrived."

She sits beside him. "I know what a bad patient you are," she observes, "so I expected it."

He drinks half the tea in silence and she's just about to offer to leave, when he speaks again, "I thought Darius was going to kill me."

"I'm not surprised. I imagine if we'd got to you any later, he might well have done. I'm only sorry it took us so long to get to you in response to your signal."

"Not your fault, M," he says, and she's relieved to hear that there's no grudging note in his voice. "That place was a proper labyrinth." He finishes the remainder of his tea, sets the mug on the coffee table, then rests his head against the back of the sofa. "I am so fucking tired, right now."

"I'll leave you to get some sleep, then," M says, starting to push up from her seat beside him. To her surprise his left hand clasps her forearm lightly, and he whispers, "Stay, please?"

"If that's what you want," she answers. She's more than a little astonished by his request, but hoping that he won't realise it.

"Yes, please." 

"Very well. Why don't you lie down again?" she suggests.

He swings his legs up onto the seat, then shifts so he can rest the back of his neck against M's thigh. She supports the back of his head with her left hand, and settles her right hand across his neck, sliding a finger inside the open collar of his shirt. She knows from past experience that the touch of skin on skin can be comforting, though she doesn't really know why.

Bond looks up at her, his blue eyes dark with fatigue, and she begins to stroke his collarbone rhythmically. "Go to sleep, James," she says softly.

His eyes close, open again, then close a second time and within a few minutes it's clear that he's asleep. M leans her head back against the sofa and closes her own eyes: she feels tears prickling against her eyelids as she considers just how close they'd come to losing Bond last night. 

007-007-007 

Somewhere in Greece, 24 hours earlier

"Where the hell is he?" demanded M, glaring down at the tablet computer she'd snatched from Tanner a few moments ago. There's a faint trace signal from Bond's radio device, but it keeps disappearing, then reappearing.

"There," says Eve, who's crowded against M on one side, while Tanner's on her other side, all three of them trying to locate Bond's current position. Eve jabs at the screen as the signal strengthens slightly, then she sets off at a run, with Tanner and M close behind.

They'd lost contact with 007 about forty-five minutes earlier, to the accompaniment of screams of pain from the agent that had chilled everyone's blood. They'd been trying to find him ever since, but Alexander Darius, the target he'd been trying to put out of action, had clearly taken his Greek background a little too seriously as his underground base was literally a labyrinth.

As Eve pulled ahead of them, Tanner glanced sideways at M and she grimaced at him. "I'm not going to get left behind," she told him.

He gave her a grin. "No ma'am."

Eve raced around a corner and they both heard a roar and, almost simultaneously, a yell of fright; Tanner and M exchanged worried looks, then picked up their pace. They rounded the bend and skidded to a halt at the sight of the young agent fighting a monstrous creature that looked for all the world like the mythic descriptions of the Minotaur.

"Go, GO!" she yelled at them. "I'll take care of this thing."

"Are you sure?" asked Tanner worriedly, even as M was circling past the creature and the agent.

"GO!"

M didn't even glance back to see if Tanner was following. She still had his tablet computer clutched in her hand and she could see that Bond wasn't too far away, although the fact that he couldn't be heard screaming was only a small comfort: he could just as easily be dead as unconscious.

Tanner caught up with M and said breathlessly, "I hope she'll be okay."

"She knows what she's doing," M said, then wondered if that sounded as callous to Tanner as it did to her; it wasn't that she didn't care about Eve – she cared about all her agents – but right at the moment she was rather more worried about Bond.

They rounded a final corner and found Bond, unconscious, naked, and chained to a stone pillar, with Darius standing over him, a whip in one hand and a gun in the other.

He turned from his contemplation of Bond, and found himself staring down the barrel of M's Baby Browning.

"Drop it, or I'll shoot," she said sternly.

Darius threw back his head and laughed. "You, old woman?" he sneered. "You – " He got no further because M had fired, smashing his hand and sending the gun spinning off across the floor.

"You were warned, Mr Darius," M said calmly as he dropped the whip to clutch at his damaged hand. "Restrain him, Mr Tanner."

"Yes, ma'am," the Chief of Staff said, giving her an admiring look. 

M kept her weapon trained on Darius until he had been secured by Tanner, then she hastily holstered her gun and hurried over to Bond. 

"James?" she said softly, lifting his lolling head in both hands. "God James, what has he done to you?" He had a black eye, a small gash above his left eyebrow, and a longer, deeper cut on his left cheek below the shiner. There were bruises and lacerations on his chest and thighs, and as she moved around behind him to unfasten the chain, she could see similar damage across his back as well.

At that moment Eve came charging around the corner, her clothing bloodstained, but a triumphant expression on her face. That faded as she took in the state of her fellow agent, and she glanced at Darius, before hurrying to M's side.

"Here." She handed over a set of lock picks, and M set to work as quickly as she could.

007-007-007

Bond's debriefing had waited on him getting medical attention, which had diagnosed a fractured collarbone in addition to the rest of his visible injuries, but M had deliberately kept the debrief session as short as possible because it was obvious Bond was in desperate need of some sleep.

"You can tell me everything in detail another day," she says. "Go home and get some rest."

"Ma'am."

She sends Eve Moneypenny in the taxi with him, resolving to look on him herself once she's finished in the office. 

007-007-007

M wakes from a doze to the sound of Bond groaning, and realises he's dreaming, or more accurately, having a nightmare. She wakes him up, and he cries out in alarm.

"Shh, James, shh. It's all right, you're quite safe now," she gently strokes a hand over his hair and he opens his eyes, looking up in fear and pain which eases as he recognises M.

"You should probably go to bed," she says, "you'll be more comfortable there."

He grunts, then grabs the edge of the sofa with his left hand and pulls himself upright. M gets to her feet, feeling a little stiff herself from remaining in one position for an hour, then she holds out her hand to Bond.

"Thanks." He takes it and allows her to help him to his feet, stumbling slightly once he's upright.

She lifts his left arm and brings it over her shoulders, moving in beside him so that she can support some of his weight. "Come on. I think you're still half asleep, and dopey as well."

He doesn't protest, a sure sign that he's not entirely with it, she feels, and she guides him into his bedroom. She makes him sit on the bed, and eases off his shoes and socks, then his shirt, carefully lifting his arm in the sling away from his body in order to remove the latter.

"Do you want me to do your trousers or can you manage?" she asks, her tone as matter-of-fact as she can make it. It's not as if she hasn't already seen him naked, but he hadn't been conscious last time, so he might well find it embarrassing now.

"I'll sleep in them," he mutters, a dull red flush staining his cheeks.

"Very well." She helps him to get under the covers, then hesitates. In truth, she's a little reluctant to leave him on his own, but at the same time, she doesn't want him to think she's interfering if she offers to stay. Fortunately he takes hold of her wrist and quietly asks her to remain.

"I can easily sleep on the sofa," she says.

"You could sleep here," he suggests, sounding a little hesitant. "Your virtue would be safe with me, after all, since I'm in no fit state to do much by myself."

She snorts with laughter. "Even if you weren't injured, my virtue would still be safe with you, James. I'm old enough to be your mother, after all."

He looks annoyed. "Your age is irrelevant, M." 

She is startled, but hopes he won't realise it; she's been attracted to him for a long time, but she's always told herself he wouldn't be interested given the age gap, but now she's not so sure. She doesn't say anything, however.

"I suppose a pair of your pyjamas would drown me," she observes in an attempt at light-heartedness. 

"I don't wear them," he says. "You'll find pyjama coats in the bottom drawer over there, though." He gestures at the chest of drawers, so she crosses the room and pulls open the bottom drawer. Inside she finds a couple of kimono-style silk pyjama tops, and she fishes out a deep blue one, then goes into the bathroom to change and clean her teeth.

She sees James has switched on the bedside lamp, so she switches off the central light, then makes her way to the bed. She slips in beside him, leaving a gap between them, although she's tempted to snuggle up to his body. 

He switches off the lamp, wishing her a quiet goodnight, which she returns. She hopes that he will sleep well for both their sakes, but if he doesn't, at least she'll be there for him.


End file.
